


Tan Sim's Demise

by JeanieT



Category: Liaden Universe - Sharon Lee & Steve Miller
Genre: Desperation, Gen, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-15
Updated: 2017-12-15
Packaged: 2019-02-15 02:49:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13021674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JeanieT/pseuds/JeanieT
Summary: How the selling of Tan Sim's contract went down.Or:Why you don't get drunk and teach random Terrans the bows no one gives you because you aren't important and don't deserve that much respect. Yeah, Rinork wasn't pleased.





	Tan Sim's Demise

**Author's Note:**

> Missing scene from Balance of Trade.

Tan Sim’s morning was a rude awakening. The hangover he’d predicted for himself had arrived in force, and he’d only been abed - he looked at his board - three hours before the summons had awakened him. Not that he’d expected anything else from his lady mother; she always finished matters of melanti in a sleepless rage with no regard for the delicate necessities of others.

Tan Sim’s allotted time in the fresher seemed like only a moment, perhaps he’d fallen asleep as he stood, but he dutifully threw his clothing on without even groaning. The walk down the hallway was almost enough to make him feel alert before this critical meeting wherein he would most likely took leave of his mother and brother forever. Or at least for several standards. The thought warmed him.

He wondered about the poor Terran boy, his unwitting partner in a crime of manners. What a joke, what a turn of the Luck. Well, that was the sort of turn Luck had a way of giving him. He hoped Master van'Deelan had been able to keep him out of trouble. What a gambit she’d made, to adopt him as son on the spot. He had to admit that it had been effective at keeping the station security out of the matter.

“Tan Sim,” Infreya said as he walked in. “So kind of you to join us promptly.” She gave an ironic bow of acknowledgement of contract fulfilled. Tan Sim bowed, with an equal amount of irony, though less grace, of obedience to a superior. His mother was so put off by his audacity to be publicly ironic that she allowed herself the luxury of a slight frown. Tan Sim prided himself on his ability to embarrass his mother by annoying her to the extent of breaking her mask of calm in public places. He knew it was a dangerous game, and yet … 

The small audience chamber was full at about 12 people, filled with what members of Clan Rinork there were on station, as well as one or two close allies by contract marriage. Tan Sim moved and sat in the requisite seat in front of the speaker’s podium, breathing the attitude of a formal trial. But this … meeting was truely a trial at its heart, he figured, only within the clan and not for public display. His idiot little half brother Bar Jan, the heir, stood at the right hand of the deli their mother, not quite keeping the evil smirk from his face. What a bastard. Tan Sim couldn’t wait for this to be over.

“We are come together, clan and allies, to balance a matter of melanti that was initiated yesterday by Tan Sim, child of the house.”

Tan Sim kept his face from twitching. Child of the house indeed, when he had been the Nadelm of Quiptic before the accursed house Rinork had killed his father and dissolved his clan. Now Tan Sim had barely any rank at all, save that he wasn’t houseless. And didn’t his Nadelm brother like to remind him of that fact, as if the treatment he and his mother gave him was such a grad and gracious favor. “Never forget, dear brother, we could have left you clanless.” In his most bitter moments, Tan Sim had wanted to say that it would have been preferable to be clanless, officially dead, than to endure the humiliation heaped upon him by his adoptive clan, kin though they were. His Rinork kin were not kind, and in fact observed every opportunity to make Tan Sim feel his lowly position. 

Tan Sim remembered the tour they’d taken of the mines, the Quiptic mines, that his mother had stolen from his father by way of contract marriage entrapment. Until that horrible day, he’d never realized that the reason Clan Rinork had been able to take the mines from Clan Quiptic had been the fact of his own birth; his own fault. Had his father not fought so hard to keep the child, so that he wouldn’t be aborted as an unwanted child of fair love, had his father been unwilling to sign a contract marriage ceding the main source of income to House Rinork to buy Tan Sim life, the house would never have fallen. A brutal tactic by the then Nadelm, Enfreya, yet demonstrably effective. They’d toured the entire collection of mines that day, through the entire asteroid cluster. All the while they’d referred to them as the Quiptic mines, and Bar Jan had smirked at the silent, ashen Tan Sim. 

“Look hard at this mining port, son,” Infreya had said to his brother. “You will need to understand its use when you are Delm, and all this will be your prevue.” And his brother had smirked in Tenzil’s direction and Tenzil kept envisioning his father’s lifeless corpse, having chosen death over facing the shame of losing the mines and eventually the house itself to this bitch, Tenzil’s mother. And Tenzil had stood, bravely swallowing his pride for that entire day, being paraded in front of all that he’d lost, all that they’d taken from him. All that would one day belong to his brother now. 

Many times, that day and since, Tan Sim had almost said aloud that he wished he were clanless. Almost. But since becoming apprentice trader on a real trade ship, he’d seen actual clanless. He’d allowed his gaze to linger upon them in an unseemly way, given that all Liadens must ignore the presence of such persons, their legal status being “dead.” He’d seen the effects of being tforbidden any legal transaction or even communication. And he’d been grudgingly persuaded that perhaps his kin had done him a favor by adopting him after all.

“The event transpired as follows,” Infreya said from her position at the head table, as if the judge to the jury. Her carying voice filled the room easily. “It happened yesterday after the day of trading had nearly come to a close. We were set up at our trade booth, myself, my heir and Tan Sim, when in full view of the public arena, a Terran, young and vulgar, approached the table. My heir attempted to shoo the thing away, but before he could do so the creature approached Tan Sim, spurning both myself and my heir, and gave a horrible imitation bow of honored child of the house.”

There were hand motions of surprise and anger among the listeners. The delm herself allowed a frown to crease her face, as she was before family after all. Tan Sim felt a slight tremble at the fury she exhibited. But he’d known that she was angry. 

“As my son and I rightly went to strike the creature, we were forcibly prevented by Tan Sim, who laid bare hands against my skin to block my motions. The words from his mouth were: “Hold, would you strike the apprentice of Clan Ixen.””

Shocked murmurs ran through the audience. Enfraya raised her eyebrows and nodded, agreeing with the sentiment. “It transpires,” she went on, “that Tan Sim had been fraternizing with the Terran in the station’s back hallways earlier that night, and had even instructed it to bow so to him if seen in public.” Infreya focused her eyes on Tan Sim in the pause. Tan Sim’s lips grew tight, and he fixed his gaze on Infreya’s chin. He would not look at the floor, stupid creature that he was. Even after all this he couldn’t just be smart and act contrite.

“At that time,” Infreya continued, “I was approached by my long sworn enemy, Trader van'Deelan of Ixen. She broke our long standing agreement of non communication by interceding on behalf of the Terran.” Infreya sounded half amused and more than a bit indignant. “We could still have claimed blood pay for the Terran, except the fool claimed him as a son on the spot.”

This led to much louder murmurs, some caughing and shouts. When it finally died down, Infreya went on. “So you see, I had to let that horrible Terran, and can’Deelin herself go, with only a note in my debt book to ease my heart. The only recourse we may now claim to begin the necessary great balance that is due? We must now decide the fate of this, the wayward son of the house, who has shamed the melanti of all of us present.”

The pause was a long one. Tan Sim kept his head up, though he could feel his shoulders slump a bit. It would be several breaths before anyone would speak, and Tan Sim counted them. It would be over soon, they’d dissolve his contract and he’d never have to see the spiteful faces of his kin again. He distracted himself from feeling ashamed - why should he feel ashamed after all - by thinking of what he would do once they dissolved his contract. He’d go to one of his contacts from one of his better trades; he had a few open offers of reference for his work, and that might just translate to a berth if he could speak to the right people.

“As balance,” said Enfreya, “and the only action we can be permitted to take I think, I propose that Tan Sim’s contract to the Trade Ship Winhael … be dissolved.”

Tan Sim was careful to remain completely impassive, though his head swam with relief. It wouldn’t be long now.

There was some murmured discussion among the attendants.

“Mother,” said that insufferable lout Bar Jan, “I would beg indulgence for the boy.” Yes, boy, Tan Sim thought, so very young you have me do all the actual work around here, though he couldn’t help being surprised. Who knew Bar Jan would actually speak up for him in a pinch? “I propose,” Bar Jan went on, “that his contract be not dissolved, but merely sold. I have a potential buyer who has asked me if our house may have any traders to spare. I will pull it up on screen now.”

Sold? Tan Sim’s stomach clenched. His eyes scanned the dossier on the screen, and panic started to tickle the edges of his sinuses. The ship Bar Jan proposed for the sale was very small, could carry bare minimum cargo, had never had a trader before and didn’t seem like it had any budget to expand profits, and worst of all had no budget or space for speculative venture. Tan Sim’s aching head began to throb as it sent him visions of living in a low G closet, getting weaker and sicker as his money dwindled to debt over the coarse of years. 

He didn’t even notice that he’d murmured “No,” until the whole room stilled, all eyes upon him.

“No, you said, cub?” said his uncle Bob, his bow (correction of an erring youth) menacing in its precision. “You dare to voice an opinion on the charity of your betters?” He came forward and stood before the head table, directly before the Delm, blocking her view of Tan Sim, and slammed a fist down on the table. “It is my opinion,” he shouted, “that the boy should be recorded as dead.”

Tan Sim heard the gasp escape his mouth and bit down his cringe. Gods, they wouldn’t really make him clanless, would they? For nothing but a joke gone wrong? He tried to hold himself rigid, but could feel his knees beginning to shake. Of course it wasn’t the joke itself they needed to punish, he reminded himself, but the fact that they’d been prevented from using it to act against Ixen. They’d seen it as a slight to their melanti, and it was his own fault. It was. But clanless? To make his death fact and then throw him living to the mercy of the dark ports … Tan Sim slammed his mouth closed and felt his legs begin to shake.

“I’ll open it for discussion,” said Infreya. 

“Well, I’d say the boy isn’t aware of how grievously he’s erred,” said someone in a reasonable tone. Tan Sim couldn’t bring himself to look who it was. “And if he hasn’t learned by now, it’s unlikely that anything we do today will teach him. Best get that kind of liability out of the clan while you’ve the chance.”

“Death was called for by the insult,” said another voice. “It does seem an appropriate consequence to the mastermind behind such a public blow to the family name.”

Tan Sim watched Infreya’s chin incline in agreement, and he felt his knees buckle. He hit the floor and cried out at the pain of it, but didn’t dare look up.

“Have you nothing to say for yourself,” asked Infreya, the disgust undisguised in her voice.

Tan Sim brought himself slowly to his feet, bowing acknowledgement of blame and, and again in supplication before power. “Please,” he heard himself say, his voice hoarse. “Please, I’ll take any buyer of my contract, any berth, just please don’t caste me from the clan.”

She waited another moment before inclining her head. “Very well. For the sake of our kinship I will show you mercy in this instance, son of the house. Your contract will be sold as proposed by my heir, Bar Jan. You will collect your possessions and await your berth in Dock five of this station until the ship rendezvouss here within the reluma. You may not set foot upon clan ships again without verbal permission from the Delm.”

“Yes ma’am,” he said softly. “Thank you.” He still couldn’t keep himself from shaking, relief allowing his knees to relax slightly. He barely noticed as Infreya said the words dismissing the meeting, and people walked past him toward the door. His eyes drifted back to the screen, that still held the proposed contract sale. It was just as horrible as he’d first thought - though he read and reread the main terms, he couldn’t see any possible way to make money, and the money for his trading had to somehow come out of the profit, which had no seed money. It would be a long, slow dwindling of his energy, strength and spirit, with no recourse but to declare bankruptcy at the end of several years of hell. 

And they’d made him beg them for this.  
Damn them.


End file.
